


Why can't I be their Hero?

by Lord_Pigeon



Category: Dragon's Dogma
Genre: Every hit is a 1-hit KO, I didn't play through this game 8 times for no challenge, I for one welcome abusing this lil shit, I'll write more I just gotta find that hot time to do so, Local child suffers through Hard Mode Level 1, M/M, Maybe if I actually finish, One day I will fix the tensing issues, This is relevant, tbh I never wrote a fanfic this is Hip (tm) right?
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-11-27
Updated: 2018-11-15
Packaged: 2019-02-07 12:33:42
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,384
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12841275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lord_Pigeon/pseuds/Lord_Pigeon
Summary: The true horrors of an existence like the Arisen is expressed through the perils of a certain sorcerer. While he possesses great power, he is burdened by the expectations placed upon his head as Arisen.All he can do is repeatedly die to the vermin of Gransys on his futile journey to slay the Dragon. Forced to rely on the protection of his one and only friend--an emotionless construction borne of his own creation. An ideal he can never reach no matter how he tries.





	1. Chapter 1

Truly, what even is a hero?

Are they the figures of myth, who dash head on into danger with a suit of armor heavy enough to be a cannonball? Or are they the heads of the government, who keep the populace safe? Legends always claim the former. Stories starring the Arisen, Gransys’s penultimate hero. When the people cried out “It’s the Arisen!” or “The Arisen has come to save us all!”, everyone was filled with hope. From the oldest scholar to the youngest merchant, people knew their homeland would be saved when 'Arisen' was spoken on the lips of others. The image of a gleaming silver knight surrounded by Pawns armed to the teeth swarmed their minds. Perhaps even designed upon the tapestry found in an alehouse. 

This image is exactly the savior that Gransys needs in times of peril. A person that could face any challenge, no matter how big, and survive. May it be Cyclopes, cults, the Dragon or even God themself. No matter if they were in an ancient mountain or flooded ruin. To the farthest ends of Gransys they’d travel for the sake of the people. Nothing was beyond their blade. Nothing was unconquerable. 

Now imagine how their faces dropped at the sight of their actual savior.

Imagine how they spoke amongst each other, in utter disbelief such a *liar* could save them. Some parlor-trick casting wannabe who would collapse after a spell or two. Someone who was dwarfed by their companions. A frail excuse of a human being.  
With a face more effeminate than a noblewoman’s and a body just as dainty, there was no way such a person could ever be seen as a historical hero. They were just a useless member of a tiny, forgettable fishing village on Gransys’s southern coast. 

As blood seeped into the pristine white sands below, the reality of it all came to a precipice. They were another casualty for the guards to count. Never again will the sunlight reach their eyes. Their fate...They were just...

Just another coffin to add to the graveyard.

A nobody doomed to die without ever amounting to anything.

Their fate borne from dreams of grandeur.

~~o~~~o~~~o~~~o~~~o~~~o

 

When waking up, more likely than not, the feeling of seagulls pecking at one’s ears would not be a pleasant experience. Their feathers get everywhere and their talons are covered in that morning’s recent catch. The beaks are hard and sharp, with a tendency to find the softest parts first. Unfortunately for a particular citizen of Cassardis, such an awakening was a common experience. 

From under the flurry of white down and flashing yellow beak, a petite porcelain hand reaches through the chaos towards the window just above. With a tug and a slam, a ramshackle attempt at shutters close, trapping the birds inside a small adobe home. The birds caw and shriek at their realization of being trapped. Many of them scramble to find gaps in the shutters. Even more find no success. 

Still sticking outwards from the amalgamous mass, the hand retreats back into the straw bed it had arisen from.

Then it rises. 

The lump that had been hidden under a thin blanket to shield itself from the fury of the gulls brings itself back to this world. Birds scatter along with large clumps of golden straw. Groaning befit for a goblin shudders through the ever-rising mass. 

A single gull in particular does not seem startled like its kin. Instead of scattering, it instead decides to hop forward and give a few inquisitive pokes to the lump’s head. Such action prompts it to wildly flail, bringing the blanket all around and covering half of the now-landed birds. The curious bird does not falter, now pecking at a tangled mass of white hair. Its head jerks to and fro, doing its damndest to remove some of the smooth strands for its own.

“Out! Out! You’re too loud! Out!” a hoarse voice calls out, laced with bitterness. A familiar hand waves out, shooing the tugging bird away.

“Move! I said no fish today! Go back outside!” the voice continues. 

From under the blanket comes a cacophony of cawing protests. The brave bird moves to peck at the closed window in indication, gulling to its brethren. In turn, another unified cry from the mostly hidden birds. Such actions causes the newly revealed person to blow the unruly strands of snowy hair out of their face. With heavy gestures, they re-open the shutters. In a movement that is more suited to be called the opening of the gates of hell, the birds all flock out of the window at once, taking the blanket with them. 

“Feed one bird and it’ll bring its whole family. How annoying.” the voice grumbles, falling back into the bed. A faint sliver of violet begins to close until it is abruptly ripped open due to a knock on the door and a distinct feminine voice calling out. 

“Cos? I just saw a flock of gulls fly out of your window. Are you well?” 

The still ambiguous human gives a sigh of exhaustion and rolls itself off the bed, landing with an ungraceful flop. Face-first.

“Ah! Cos? Di-Did you collapse? Should I fetch Benita?”

At first, there is no reply. Then, slowly, a groan of 'No' echoes through the empty bedroom. The feminine voice outside lets out a heavy breath of clear relief.

“Thank goodness you are unhurt. I really do worry about you, cos. Gulls are not safe animals to house. They’re quite unclean.”

It pauses, only to return twofold, startled and nearly embarrassed. 

“O-Of course if you wish to give gulls a home, I have no problem with it! I’m simply worrying too much again like Pa says. Too big a heart.”

For another long moment, there is silence. Only soft padding and the distant cawing of gulls keeps everything functioning. 

“C-Cos? Are yo--” 

Yet, before the words can even come free, the plank door swings inwards. In the doorway, a young person stands, their oddly pale violet eyes deeply shadowed by dark circles. Their hair falls in thick and knotted rivulets down far past their shoulders, with strands curling and frizzing in places not thought humanly possible.

“I fed a gull once a week ago. They have yet to leave me alone since. Did you know they can open latches? Because I certainly didn’t. Brats stole all my fish.” the bedraggled person snaps dryly. Strangely, they don’t seem entirely too pleased seeing the woman standing at their door.

Deep brown hair that would put the richest soil to shame tumbles down past the woman’s waist, waves adding a quality not seen often in such a tiny village such as this. Concern is etched in both her ocean-colored eyes and tanned skin, much to the apathy of the home’s owner. In her hands is a basket full of assorted fruits, fish and breads, garnished with a common green herb. Meekly, she holds it out to the person, trying her best to smile despite her clear worries.

“Then you must be hungry then, eh cos? Heraldo had surplus and I thought it’d be a nice time to have breakfast. To raise spirits, no? With word of the dragon and all.”

At first, the scraggly stranger simply stares at her. They try their hardest to understand her words, it slowly registering in their sleep-addled brain. It takes many moments. When it clicks, they simply take the basket with the faintest of smiles. 

“...Very well Quina.”

For just a moment, Quina’s worries wash away and are replaced by a deep sense of joy. A gleam of unbridled happiness lights up her already shining eyes and her face breaks into more of a grin than a smile. 

“Do not worry cos! I am simply making sure you are well! A healthy fisherman is a productive fisherman, as they say.” Quina recites.

The moment her sentence trails off, she jumps and gasps in realization.

“Oh cos! I forgot! Benita wanted you to fetch some mithridate today. Cortese ate a rotten fish and got ill--again. I would go myself, but I’m afraid I promised Aestella I would aid her hurt ankle. Everyone truly is acting reckless...”

The stranger peers up at Quina from a mouthful of apple, eyes now wide. Though hair covers much of it, the long eyelashes are still obvious from behind the white curtain. Quina’s held tilts lowly, the red beaded necklaces around her neck clinging lightly as she does.

“Wh-When you finish, would you mind reuniting by Pablo’s Inn? A bit before dusk? I heard there is a lobster dinner at the Alehouse tonight. W...We can go together, yes?”

Too busy chowing down on their apple, the stranger is completely unawares of Quina’s reddening cheeks. Pale cheeks distended with fruit, they appear to think over her suggestion. It lasts a few moments until they swallow.

“Don’t see a reason why we shouldn’t. Inez makes an exceptional saurian tail with that batter of hers.” 

With a nonchalant throw of the core, the stranger places the rest of the basket atop a large wooden crate near their door. They move to another part of the home as Quina is forced to stand in the doorway. When they reappear, their features are heavily concealed by a crimson cloak and hood. All that shows is the unkempt curls of white hair strewn about inside. The sight forces a startled inhale from Quina. Which she quickly hides behind a wary laugh.

“Your robe still frightens me so, cos. Had I not known better, I think you for an evil magician!”

Her companion only prompts a smug smile at her fear.

“Is that so? And here I thought nobody could think me so powerful. Waa-shah.”

Such sarcasm prompts a gentle giggle from the chieftain’s adoptive daughter. She turns up towards her cliffside home, giving a curt bow to her companion.

“Do stay safe in the meantime, cos.”

Yet as she’s about to leave, she stops. Her expression seems to darken by her own thoughts.

“Dove."

The cloaked friend stalls at the mention of their name. Locking eyes, they seem to stare each other down for an eternity. A tie only broken by the speaking of words.

"Please? He who is haughty is the first to fall.”

And with her ominous words, she heads back up the worn path. Leaving the cloaked figure to their own devices as midday sunlight begins to ascend above the familiar Cassardis cliffs.


	2. Mithridate and Gulls

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Dove finally gets to show off his actual personality and have personal debates about morality. Also know as be an absolutely insufferable edgelord. All building up to the first scene of the game. Honestly though, I hate writing edgelords but do it for the characterization.

“It’s going to rain.” Dove mutters to himself. 

Faded eyes are set upon the greying sky beyond the ocean. Lightning cracks in the blackest of clouds, lighting them up like a firework. White speckles the ocean, dying its black waters a flurry of momentary stars. On the farthest coast there lies the slightest look of the great city of Gran Soren, unshakable in the sight of the storm. Fearless of the lightning that brews just beside.

Wandering traders walk past Dove, giving the dainty human clad in cloth entirely too thick odd looks on their way. A few even give scathing remarks as he passes by them on the route towards the Encampment.

_“There goes Benita’s brat. Out to cause more trouble I bet.”_

_“Should stay in the shop where he belongs.”_

_“Is that even a fisherman Ferdinand?”_

_“Can’t imagine what the goblins will do to him if they catch the poor bastard out…”_

Each comment cuts deeper than the last. Even as he dives into the treeline just before the Encampment, he can overhear them repeating. Ripping up the Mithridate silences nothing. Closer to Cassardis’s gate, the shrieks and grumbles of goblins fills the air. Only repelled by the grumpy knights guarding who shoo them away with various curses.

Dove stuffed the leaves of Mithridate into his belt pouch. More times than once he’s had to make antidote for goblin poison that struck trader’s bellies on these errands. And it has been almost every instance that he’s regretted it. Nothing but ungrateful money mongers. Dumb to boot. Who, willingly, would walk beyond the road without running for supplies? Even by Gran Soren it’s a well known idiom to keep to the roads or be swiftly lowed.

Dove clicked his tongue in disdain at the thought. Maybe the next time some exploiting moron gets caught out by one of those nasty little goblins he’d just walk away. Say there were just too many when the guards question what happened. Would serve them right. Trying to make a quick coin by exploiting some small village on the coast--just close enough but far from Gran Soren. They had no respect for Dove or the other villagers. They were just money-bags with foolish healers who would save them for their mistakes to merchants. Best to let them rot.

Tearing out another root, he crudely places it in its new home. Too distracted by his own swarming thoughts, he takes his sweet time in realizing that his hands have gripped naught but grass and soil. He stares at his darkened hands with annoyance.

Half these errands were for those damn merchants anyway. Benita ran an apothecary. A business. Most people in Cassardis did. At the point, if it wasn’t for Benita taking him in when he was just some borderline blind worm crawled from the filth, he’d be long gone. People were a hassle he couldn’t stand. Rude, like most. Or simply just too kind, like Quina or Adaro.

Angry hands pat down the burgundy-colored cloak. What was once a vibrant shade of red has now been sullied with the darkness of mud. 

“Heavens I simply can’t stand the lot of them!” Dove snaps. He shoots up to his feet, dirt-covered fists clenched. “When will the dragon just kill me already?!”

A worn brown boot kicks at a rotting log, shaking up the spry branches blooming atop. Dove pointedly ignores all the looks that are directed towards him as he proceeds to pulverize the poor log to mulch. All while spewing out curses that the guards could only hope to match.

Only when sap and wood chips remain of the log does Dove finally stop. His breathing is heavy and his pale face is flushed a ghostly white. Wheezing, he falls to his knees and holds his chest. Stabbing pain fills both his ribs and his head--woozy as he is from all that exertion. It leaves him unaware of an all-too familiar caw from above his head.

Startled, he tries to spin around to face the noise. Yet due to his cloak, he simply cocoons himself and falls back heavily. Coming face-first with the seagull from before. It is perched on the tree above him, head turning to and fro curiously. Dove’s violet gaze is flat when he glares at the bird.

“You again. I’ll have you know I’m fresh out of fish because of you.”

The seagull doesn’t respond. It simply caws once. Dove pouts at the creature, attempting to untangle himself so he can throw a handful of mulch. Unfortunately, when he does, he fails to realize the elbow is still caught and the chips fall back into his face. Cawing twice now, the seagull appears to laugh at Dove’s own incompetence.

“Shut up. I don’t need some mindless bird mocking me too.” the cloaked man spits, rolling his way out of his own predicament. Though he is quick to get free, he is no cleaner from his efforts. Mulch litters his voluminous mass of white hair with a false gradient of black dirt. A puff of hair blows the unruly bangs from his eyes--death glare pointed at the gull.

“Don’t you dare.”

No caw from the gull. It simply peers at Dove with its beady black eyes. They follow Dove the entire way as he trudges back to Cassardis. Far more bitter and annoyed than when he left.

~~o~~~o~~~o~~~o~~~o~~~o

Walking past the portcullis that faced the ocean was always a sense of relief. Dove wasn’t always fond of this town, but the view it supplied was nothing short of beautiful. Below the hill that Cassardis’s main entrance was placed is the beach. Pale golden sand that appeared identical to the precious metal in the noonday sun. Though it isn’t as bright as normal due to the storm brewing, its beauty is not dulled. A miracle really, since at least _something_ can keep him from absolutely unloading his anger immediately. 

Staring at the ant-like shapes running to and fro between boats and fishnets, he tries to steady his breathing. Ever since the log incident, it had been fairly unstable all the walk back. No wonder Benita perpetually scolded his attempts at physical activity.

A woman who took pride in surprising Dove at any opportunity.

“Good afternoon, my little bird! You found the mithridate, I hope?” An all-too-familiar voice rings out. Her portly shape likely wouldn’t give cause for such great bouts of stealth, yet she somehow had managed to sneak behind Dove in his own daydreaming. Her hand reaches up to pat the smaller fellow atop his head in a fairly matronly gesture. Too afraid to react or even scream, Dove only can croak out a single word.

“Y-yes…”

“That’s fantastic! Cortese is going to be right as rain in no time. Good thing too, rumor has it there’s a marlin out on the farthest western coast! By that broken old fortress!”

Benita, all aglow with joy, initially doesn’t seem fully aware of Dove’s current state. He truly doesn’t want to tell Benita about the sorry shape he’s in but knowing her, she’ll find out faster than he could explain. When her hand tenses atop his head is when his realization of her own understanding comes to light.

“Dove…Mind remember when I told you to not push yourself past breaking?”

Silence rings between the two. Just a few feet behind, Dove can hear the chuckling of Gran Soren guards.

“Last time you got reckless you nearly lost a leg and Adaro almost went mad trying to find that blasted hellhound. Net mending or no, there’s only so much the Maker gives!”

Dove can’t help but cringe under Benita’s scolding. While she’s always been the mother figure to Adaro’s father figure, it’s fairly obvious who really does the discipline in the raising. A trait Dove can’t help but be annoyed by--as expected. Just as he’s about to zone out though, Benita gives a hearty sigh. Her hand retreats and wipes against her dress’s blue sash. She moves in front of him to head back into her home. Speaking all the while.

“You are to be the death of me at some point, my little bird. You’re so fragile I can’t help but have my heart leap everytime you go out. Any more leaps and it shall go over the moon!”

Grumbling like a petulant child, Dove huffs back a snappish remark. While it seems Benita notices this, she chooses to ignore it when she moves back behind her counter. Dove places the pouch loudly in front of her. Keeping eye-contact at this point wouldn’t be conducive to his anger management. Yet he does get a glimpse at Benita’s vague smile when turning back towards the door. 

“I’ll let you free this week. No more errands. Recover a wee bit and get that breathing steady. Now go have fun at that fest!”

As the door slams behind him, Dove is unable to notice the gentle wave of Benita. He simply trudges towards the village center, holding his head.

 

Some people really were too nice around here.


	3. Dragons and Idiocy

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So this is about it for the technical prologue. From here it's gonna be more plot focused and less on super-quick development. Gotta build up the characters for their trauma yo. Seriously though, sorry it's so fast. I just wanted to get it done with so I can do something I'm decent at.

It was just a few hours before dusk. The sun that was once ripe above Cassardis has begun to set. Anybody standing in village center would likely be blinded by its position, as seen by one of the portcullis guard lowering their helm.

“It’s almost time. Quina should be here by now.” Dove grumbled to himself. His cloak was dirty from his adventures digging out mithridate and he really would have liked to drop it off at Benita’s instead of lugging it around. Yet here he was.

Grumpy, he sends a spare but foolish glance towards the lowering sun. Despite being consumed by the far cliffs, it’s still bright enough to blind those that weren’t already mostly there.  
Cursing himself, Dove covers his eyes to stop the pain. Going any blinder would only serve more troublesome. Unfortunately, the pain only spikes as the sound of one of Cassardis’s guards screams out his hourly recruitment banter. Another reason that he couldn’t stand this village.

“Hear ye’ Hear ye’! The prophets have spoken and the dragon’s return is nigh! Time to lay down rod and reel for the sword!”

Silently chiding Quina for picking a spot so close to the loudmouth, Dove moved to cover his ears instead.

“Cos!”

Despite all his attempts at drowning out noise, it fails when Quina approaches down the street with a meek smile on her face. She even waves in indication--just in case Dove couldn’t see her. Dove waved back, though more in dismissal than greeting. Unfortunately it flies by Quina’s attention when she trots up to him. Much to his chagrin, she immediately notices his condition and begins to worry in a fashion not even Benita could match.

“C-Cos! What ever happened to you? Did you tumble down the hillside? Were you ambushed by the goblins? Are you hurt? Oh Maker, I knew I should have gone after you cos…You could be all arought with blood…”

As she babbles when bouncing from every inch, Dove simply rolls his eyes. Even when she lifts up his cloak, he does his best to hide his unbridled annoyance from before. It’s the least that can be done for someone that bring breakfast and lunch to his doorstep.

Unfortunately, the two are caught in their own world and are unable to notice the village all around them. What was once bustling and wild turns into a graveyard in but a moment. Dead silence all around.

Wandering citizens look to each other as to where the sudden lack of sound originated from. Even the loudmouth excuse of guards seem to stall, peering at each other. Even Quina falters, peering up at Dove with her head cocked curiously behind the cloak. By the time one shrugs, sound abruptly returns.

To the sound of wingbeats.

“It’s...It’s the dragon!”

From the beach scrambles Merin, sweating and breathing heavily. He nearly collapses in the intersection right there, if it weren’t for the looming black shadow just above.

“Tha...That’s the dragon?”

In between the silence and Merin’s screaming, Quina had swiftly swung herself behind Dove. Her hands trembled terribly as they clung to the disgusting cloak, unsure of what was happening. Nobody knew until a flying plank of wood spears the ground right in front of Merin’s face. A thunder unlike any storm rumbles the village as the pier is made all but splinters. Crimson death floats above the coast with wings thrumming to the sound of heartbeats.

And just like that, everything explodes into a panic.

People scream and run towards the gates, others scramble into Pablos’s for some ill sought shelter. The great beast flicks its tail into the water in preparation for landing. Its landing creates enough of a splash that the entire intersection becomes the epicenter of a rainshower. Panicking himself, Dove looks around for people he can recognize that’ll help. All he sees is blurs and the sound of sobbing. 

A blood curdling shriek erupts from the upper street as a boulder is launched into one of the homes, exploding it into a flurry of mud and brick. Dove can’t help but watch as two--no three--people are crushed under the collapsing debris of challenged foundation. Darkness dyes the muddy street, running down in rivulets because of its newly acquired wetness. What was once colorful, festive banners have fallen in tune with the pale pink of squished insides.

Out of the corner of his eye, Dove picks out the silver gleam of the guard’s abandoned swords. Forgoing what they came here to do, how very typical of them. He stares the fallen blades down as the dragon approaches the beach, burning all that are unfortunate to have been near the blast. A child that managed to avoid the flames is swiftly picked out from the black and red bodies. Like a fish to bait, the dragon snaps them in two. Lower body exploding into a fountain of crimson gore, it stumbles a few feet before collapsing in a puddle. A white snake creeps from the lower body, making the legs twitch unnaturally before finally stilling. White eyes of a reptile now turn towards the town in itself, foot slamming deep into the sand bank.  
Quina notices the dragon’s gaze and her expression drops. Her voice is quiet and shaking, as if she had seen death itself.

“...It’s coming. It’s coming for the village.”

Her words fall upon Dove’s ears. Ears belonging to a head that was scrambling to figure out a decision. He has always hated this village. Wouldn’t it have been better just to let it die? Be purged in the great flame of a godly dragon? He’d certainly feel guilt about the deaths of Adaro...or Quina...or Benita...or Iola....even Valmiro. Perhaps those few people were the ones that were subconsciously forcing him to lug the heavy sword down towards the beach. If there were not a crying child in her arms, Dove knows Quina would have stopped him. If he were in a more sane state of mind, he would have stopped himself too. But this entire situation was one he never wanted to relive.  
Fighting to protect Quina from a monster from the heavens. Having to be saved by someone else. Nearly dying.

Only this time, he had a gut feeling he wouldn’t escape with his life.

~~o~~~o~~~o~~~o~~~o~~~o

 

_Why am I doing this again?_ Dove thinks as he just avoids another stream of fire when approaching the hulking beast. _I can’t kill the Dragon with this toothpick. I can barely even lift this thing._

Crying out, he dives behind a displaced boulder. Blazing heat erupts from either side, pinning him in place. The blaze sucks all the oxygen out from around him, making his already heavy breaths become desperate. 

_I couldn’t kill it even with the strongest blade in the world._

The jetstream ends, in which Dove takes the chance to finally charge. Using all his fragile might he swings the crudely made blade against the scales. It slides off as if he were just striking marble. Another swing, another slide. One of his eyes starts to close from the exhaustion tearing at his body, knees threatening to buckle. 

_I’m just a nobody from a nobody village._

The dragon doesn’t notice him as he throws the blade away and brings out a large glass vial. 

_I won’t survive this. I’m actually throwing my life away. For a maddening village I despise._

Panting heavily, he staggers his way up towards the front paw of the dragon. His back is hunched, but his prediction was on point. The paw swings, catching Dove by his cloak and launching him up as if a cloth rack. 

_I never got to do anything with my life. I’ll just be another grave on the cliff._

Using the last of his energy, he tosses the potent acid right towards the dragon’s face. The vial barely flies and instead lands onto the dragon’s palm. It doesn’t go deeply at all, merely dislodging some of the flawless scales there. It does, however, draw a few drops of blood throughout the charring skin. This proves to be Dove’s downfall as the pain forced the dragon to rear. Something he wasn’t predicting at all. If it wasn't for his dirty cloak's durability he would've fallen and been crushed under the dragon's feet. Though his apparent savior becomes his executioner as it chokes him--caught on the skewed scales in the fall. 

_I’m an idiot._

Dove struggles for the ends of the cloak. His fingers play at its knitting, jerking to and fro from the dragon’s own erratic movements. 

_Such an idiot._

The cloak comes loose at a cost. It tears apart the same moment the dragon jerks roughly to the right. With a cry, Dove is launched hundreds of feet back at stories high. He skids into the shoreline as his arms go in different directions. Red mist erupts from a single cough upon impact. Blood starts to rain down his forehead as the crack in his skull begins to leak. Blood pools around him in an endless river the ocean’s waves try to contain. Foaming spit leaks from the corners of his mouth as systems start shutting down from trauma. From most perspectives, he’d be far and long dead. 

Yet by some miracle, Dove breathes. 

What was once eyes full of disdain for local seabirds now become ones of emptiness. Unfocused. It dozily shifts all around, doing its best to gaze upon the great beast now looming over him. At the red-scaled God who crushes the burnt remains of villages as if blades of grass. 

The dazed eyes close as Dove lies in his newly made bed. He isn’t even aware of the Dragon’s ominous chanting from ruby-slitted eyes. 

Consciousness has long passed when his heart is thrown into the dragon’s gaping maw. All that remains of the once vibrant life is a growing pile of blood and knitting of skin. His twisted arm jerks back to position, followed by his skull. Only one thought remains in the once dying body before it blacks out. 

_Left in the sea to drown._


	4. Storms and Voices

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I got sick and stopped writing for a bit. Sorry y'all. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

Waking up on a hard rock normally isn’t the best way to arise after dying.

It hurts and frankly, will grant a headache faster than having one’s skull split open.

Dove notes his terrible state with a swear and a crude toss of a pot. It crashes against a nearby tapestry, shards catching on its coarse fabric. Locks of disgusting off-color white hair are matted to his chest and clothes.  
One would think washing the dead would be a requirement for burial.

_Apparently not. Incompetent louts._

Clicking his tongue in disdain, he drags his gaze all around the remarkably large coffin. It looks awfully like Adaro’s council room, though with a much higher body count than normal. Mass graves were never in style and even now it appears more akin to a hospital than anything.

Then, just like that, the realization strikes Dove like a well-timed backhand. His hands scramble to search his skull, to find the crack that was very clearly leaking blood just moments ago. All it touches is a crusted combination of salt and sand. Grains of either fall into his shirt when his hands remove themselves to pat down his body. It’s frantic pats, not unlike a trader forgetting where his coins were put. Finding all his ribs to be in order, Dove’s expression darkens all the more.

He most certainly had died against the dragon. He was swatted away like a bug and his body smashed accordingly. Water was dyed a shade of crimson he couldn’t help but envy in retrospect. If it wasn’t the damage that did him in, it was the bloodloss.

Yet he sits here on a stone bench. In Chief Adaro’s home. With fellow citizens wounded in the attack. As his stare turns blank and idle ahead, he doesn’t note the faint golden glow upon his chest. Nor the scar wide enough to encompass most of the ribcage.

“If you would face me...take up arms, newly Arisen.”

Shrieking in a fashion that roused the unconscious, Dove’s hands flail about. His wrist collides with a pot shelf, causing him to curse again. Compensating, his head decides to dart instead.

“Who said that? Come out! If you wish to fight some sort of injured man, then prepare yourself for a fight! I shall wallop you into Gran Soren!”

Silence echoes as much as it can in a sick bay. But like the tide, the glow and the voice return. Now without Dove’s obliviousness to accompany as which.

“Take up arms, newly Arisen. My kind do not heed the toothless.”

_So I died, revived back to this accursed village and now am hearing voices from my own chest. Truly what an eventful day it has been._

Dove can’t help but breathe out heavily in annoyance. Dying likely would have been a better alternative to whatever insanity that is now wrought upon him. With legs all too unstable to walk, he hobbles to his feet in spite. Voices can be heard in the hallway nearby but he elects to ignore them. He is in nothing short of bloody rags and horribly scarred. In no sense is he about to go talk to someone. He has some level of pride in himself.

Leaning on everything he can possibly lean on, he hobbles his way to the far table. Linen for the other patients lies upon the countertop--a donation from Iola no doubt. Below it all is a mass of fresh clothing.

Ripping it away with a flourish, Dove strips himself of his previous gear and applies the new tunic. It’s coarse and doesn’t cover his arms worth a damn, but it covers his chest. His gaze then darts to the large stick beside the clothed table. Convenient for a man who could barely walk. Gripping it and using it as a cane, he rests against the stick. Though his gaze is downcast, Dove can’t help but notice one small detail.

His vision has sharpened.

While he could normally see, it was always blurry and poor. Now there were clearer shapes and brighter colors. Vibrancy that he never experienced now full force.

_Who knew cracking your skull open could fix eyesight?_

At his own quip, he smirks. Tell Benita that and she’ll legally go about batting people in the skull with a fish mallet. Dragging himself over to the doorway, Dove has a second mind to actually do so.

_Might actually knock some sense into these twits._

Yet before Dove can resume his triumphant exit, the voices become clearer. Completely obliterating the lightened mood.

“His heart...it’s silent! But yet he breathes!”

Quina, worried out of her mind for someone else again.

“It’s the curse o’ the dragon. No good can come o’ this! No good at all, Quina!”

Chief Adaro, paranoid as ever.

“Then what else can I do? I shallnt leave it like this…”

Silence more hollow than the one in the sick bay sings between the two.

“Pray, Quina. Do not strain yourself so. There is a solution, I know it. Just...I would rather you not search for it yourself.”

Abruptly, the front door closes. Adaro leaving with a word. 

_Nice to know he’s curt even in the wake of tragedy._

Hobbling like a hermit, Dove makes his way to try and follow suit. Unfortunately, Quina catches him almost immediately.

“Dove! How fares your wound? You seem far better than before.”

Despite his grimace at the prospect of speaking to her, he shoots her a vague smile nonetheless. If she was the one caring for him all this time, it’s the very least he can do for all she does.

“That I do. However, the whole voice-in-my-head aspect I can do without.” Dove jokes, almost encompassing his staff completely.

Quina’s head tilts curiously, mouth open as if to ask about the voices. But she never does, simply closing it with a traditionally serene smile. Her hands clutch to her chest. A tic of hers signalling her relief.

“Ahh, that is good to know cos.”

Cos. Already back to the nicknames.

“You know, we heard stories of those that have no heartbeat after facing the dragon. They are called the Arisen. You remember, don’t you cos?”

Dove’s smile falters considerably. Memories of the shining knights with blades of flame and rogues with a quiver of poison arrows are ones hard to forget. Especially since they were so embedded in the Gransian mythology.

“Yeah. I do indeed.”

Quina’s excitement grows at Dove’s acknowledgement. She nods furiously, leaning forward.

“I have cause to think you are _our_ Arisen! All you need are Pawns! You are the hero Gransys needs, cos!”

Dove blinks at her enthusiasm. He’s even more caught off guard when her mood drops like a rock.

“But if you are the Arisen...I am filled with fear. Last time you fought a beast you nearly died. You dueled the Dragon and was instantly thrown aside. What will the rest of Gransys do? What will happen to everyone if their hero is killed? To me when my dear cos is but a coffin?”

Her hands drop from her chest to her hips. Tears prick at her eyes as her worry takes over he common sense. Dove bites back a bitter groan. 

_Why didn’t I wait? Waiting would have meant I could have left without anybody knowing. I have no idea how to cope with a crying girl. I did not sign for this part. Any of this, really!_

Without much thought beyond his own personal scolding, he reaches forward. A pale white hand appears atop of Quina’s head and pats it as if a dog. Though he’d much rather keep a frown, he forces his lips to quirk into a faint smile.

“There, there Quina. There’s always a way. That was the whole point of those stories, no?”

Internally, Dove gags. It was a disgusting set of words to speak. 

_Always a way?_ Always a way? _If you were physically adept maybe. If you were something special perhaps. Me though? Has Quina finally lost it? Wait. Have_ I _finally lost it?_

Dragging himself out of his train of thought, he catches a glimpse of the sobbing girl ahead. Unfortunately for him, his return to the present is far too late and he ends up caught off guard by Quina’s arms wrapping around him in an all-too-tight hug.

“Dove! Cos! Please! Do not die! Saving the realm is all well and good but...what of us? What of Cassardis? What will become of us? We will never be the same without those gulls of yours!”

Though she tries to withhold her tears with a subtle joke, it falls flat. Her tears stain Dove’s brand new tunic, furthering his steadily growing temper. Yet he keeps it just steady enough to keep patting her head, hoping she’d calm down sooner rather than later and he can head back out to the village.

“I want to help you. I will find a way to cure this curse of the dragon. Stop you from being the Arisen. I would love for you to be Arisen but...I just could not stand to lose you as well.”

Dove raises an eyebrow at her mumbled conviction, praying that she would finally back up and go on some magical quest to leave him alone.

_Certainly can get your priorities in order with just a single conversation, Quina._

Sniffling, at last, she does pull back. Ocean eyes are alight with conviction, though they are still wrought with tears. It’s an odd look on someone normally so demure.

“I _shall_ not lose another, Dove. So please. Again…”

Quina stalls, looking towards the wooden door leading to freedom. Dove slowly inches closer to it while she’s distracted, giving the occasional odd look and making sure she’s not noticing his escape too obviously.

“Those that are haughty are the first to fall.”

And with that, the wooden door is blown open by an ocean breeze. Revealing the brilliant sun far above Cassardis cliffs and storm just beyond them. 

Yet another day all to similar to the last.


	5. Puns and Grannies

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The Journey Finally Begins.

Scrambling out of the Chief’s Hut was a blessing Dove never knew he wanted. Between waking up so crudely and Quina throwing a fit, it’s been nothing short of a hellish day.

And from the sun’s position on the cliff, it’s barely halfway done.

Grumbling as he shuffles down the slope on his staff, Dove runs through the current events in his mind.

So he tried to the fight the Dragon...for Maker knows what reason. Result? He got smashed like a fly and went unconscious. Then he failed to sneak out of Adaro’s hut. Punishment included dealing with a sobbing, mildly emotionally unstable Quina. The way things are going, his next goal of getting new clothes from Iola should go nothing short of abysmal. What a way to start being the Arisen.

That’s when he stalls in the intersection.

Arisen.

That’s what Quina kept blabbering about. Declaring him to be Arisen. Certainly there’s no doubt the dragon encounter changed Dove. Hearing voices and being brought back from death are not normal human milestones. Neither is the abrupt healing of lifelong setbacks. Yet was of that truly a sign of being Gransys’s penultimate hero? 

_More likely a sign of brain damage._

Bitterly smiling at the prospect of dying from an aneurysm, Dove continues on his way. Arisen or not, he’s going to clean and get changed. He’s been nothing but disgusting since...was it yesterday?

Knocking the butt of his staff against Iola’s door, he waits for the old woman to answer. Thoughts swim through his mind, wondering how exactly he’s going to get all the sand from his locks. Or blood from his skin. His thoughts must show on his face given how Iola almost immediately scolds him upon opening the door.

“Oh, minnow. What have you gotten yourself roped into now?”

Eyes snapping back to attention, Dove looks down at the small, ancient woman in front of him. She’s easily a head or two small than him, back slightly hunched and white hair nothing short of wisps. Her face however, is alight in a smug (albeit mostly toothless) grin.

“Dragons, apparently.”

“Pah. The Dragon! Ought’ve let this village have its turn, you should’ve. Prolonging the inevitable!”

Clicking her tongue, Iola turns around in a pout.

“I _knew_ Edmun didn’t slay the blasted thing. Ain’t nobody heard of how he did it and now it’s back. Eatin’ up villages one by one. Cheatin’ scoundrel, that duke!”

Lips quirking in an awkward smile, Dove waves but a single hand to try and calm the rambunctious old woman down.

“T-There are guards nearby Iola...I don’t want them ‘interrogating’ you if they find out you don’t like Duke Edmun…”

“Ooh, ocean take those guards! Ain’t nothing but a buncha’ poor village boys trying to make a living off a few inklings of coin! One jumped in that there well during the attack for Maker’s sake! Pathetic! Lot of ‘em!”

Chuckling lowly at the old woman’s spirit, Dove can’t help but nod his head in agreement. Iola always was his favorite person to talk to, if only because she spoke her mind. Something Dove himself couldn’t help but envy.

“Ahh, blast it. It ain’t worth getting my skirts in over. Rather ask why you are knocking on my here door. Thought you were busy chatting it up with the Chief’s daughter. Quiche, was it?”

“Quina, Iola.”

“Quill! Of course! What happened to having her or Benita taking up all your time? Leaving your old Iola out in the sand?”

Dove’s smile twitches, sheepish upon being called out. It wasn’t all his fault that the village needed more apothecaries. And it most certainly wasn’t his fault he had the muscle mass of a skeleton. Only a few openings in life were available to him. Unfortunately.

Iola scowls, places her hands on her hips.

“Aye. You going to speak, minnow? Or just sit there cringing like a bad dinner date?”

Flinching, Dove waves his hands in front of him meekly.

“Sorry, sorry Iola. It’s just that fishing has been more dangerous of late and I’ve been running errands like crazy.”

Iola huffs, throwing her once placid hands into the air like an exasperated mother.

“Feeding them gulls more like! Look at that! Middle of the village and they’re following you around like a starving mutt! Don’t think you can lie to me, minnow! These old eyes seen much and they’re going to see a lot more if I have anything to say about it!”

Blinking rapidly, Dove spins on his heel to see behind him. His untamed waves barely avoid hitting Iola in the face, his average height finally serving to his advantage. Much to Dove’s horror, perched upon the roof of the grocer is an all too familiar seagull. It stares at the dynamic duo with beady black eyes, rounded head crooked to the side. It seems aware of Dove’s growing hatred of the bird, in which it shrieks a single caw. The bird grows even more bold upon seeing Dove’s hand shoo it away. Taking initiative, it flutters onto the outstretched arm, spilling feathers everywhere.

“Now you’ve trained ‘em? Minnow, I oughta give you a good knockin’! Ain’t nothing but pests of the seas! Stealing everything good and knocking holes in our clothes! They’re vermin! Almost as bad as the Duke’s guards!”

Iola’s ranting is not lost on Dove. If anything, they sting harder than anything he’s encountered thus far.

_It’s not like I want this stupid bird around._

Huffing, he gently wags his arm to shake the bird away. For once, it doesn’t seem to be absolutely rude about it. Rather, the seagull looks bored. Fluffing up its feathers, it hops off of Dove’s arm. Both him and Iola watch it fall, the latter struck silent by such odd actions. Cawing in a mimic of laughter, the seagull hops off like an overstuffed crow. Turning into one of Cassardis’s many alleyways, it vanishes completely.

“Good job Dove! Done got a smart one! Those are even worse!”

Snapping back to reality, Dove turns back to the increasingly angry old woman.

“He’s not smart. He’s just annoying. It’s just that the annoying ones tend to be the craftiest. Big difference.”

“Smart, daft, drunk, whatever it is! Don’t like ‘em!”

Turning around to face her store interior, Iola begins to march back to her counter.

“Enough of it. Throat’s starting to go out from all this talking. What’s it you need, minnow. Before I toss you some cloth n’ force it to make it yourself.”

“Oh. Uh. I need some clothes. Quina got mine covered in snot. And I need to head out to the road for some supplies for Benita.”

“That Quiver! Too sweet for her own good. Going to get her killed one day, I swear by the Maker.”

Despite Iola’s bitter words, she changes direction from her counter to one of her many looms. It is draped in an excessive amount of white cloth, all of varying quality. She bundles it all into her twiggy arms, the pile becoming big enough to tower over her head.

“This is free, Dove. I figure your motivations are to help those that got a good kicking from that damn Dragon. Ain’t nobody with a mind going to charge you for that.”

Piling the clothes at Dove’s feet, Iola’s lips curl into the toothiest (or lack of) smiles possible.

“Now don’t get yourself killed by some rotten goblins and ruin my work. White cloths hard to work with when yer’ fingers shake and prick every other minute.”

Unable to help smiling back, Dove nods as he leans over to pick up the clothes. They’re light and made with traditional Cassardian methods. A stark white color too. Leave it to Iola to know his wants the most.

“Thank you Iola.”

Huffing, the old woman waves Dove off in a fashion almost as crude as Dove did to the gull minutes earlier. 

“That’s “thanks” for you, minnow! Don’t be all formal on me now! Too many of those folk ‘round here as is!”

Bowing his head, Dove just barely avoids getting a solid slab of wooden door slammed into his face. Like a flame, Iola appears and burns bright before vanishing completely once more. Dove sighs, thinking of possible magical spells that allow a body swap. Unfortunately, none come to mind even as he makes his way to his home. As he changes, the despair of it all comes crashing down, leading to a fairly comedic fall onto his bed.

“This is….absolutely terrible.”

~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~O~

New cloak on, pouch emptied and sandals strapped, Dove sidles himself up for the journey to the encampment. Benita probably needs more herbs and what better place to get them than from the grubby sausages called fingers of the Duke’s guard. Double checking his cleaned gear and making sure everyone is inside for the evening, Dove sets out. The portcullis is open just enough for him to sneak out, thanks to the lack of attention by the standing guards. He ducks his head under the huge iron spikes, weaving between their dirt stained metal like wind in a canyon.

Nobody sees him leave, nobody seems to care.

All the better for him.

However, despite making pace, Dove is barely past the first cliffside when something goes wrong.

When the sun hides behind the adobe buildings of Cassardis, unusual flashes of light are not uncommon. The building’s structure leads to flickering or beams sneaking in through crumbling walls. Of course, when they’re vaguely green that raises more than a few questions. None of which Dove wants answered.

Without saying a word, Dove picks up his pace exponentially. His eyes widen in fear that the weird flash will not follow him or even acknowledge his leaving of Cassardis.

“Sir? Sir Arisen?”

Dove swallows the lump in his throat and continues speed walking towards the encampment.

“Sir Arisen! May I see your person in full?”

_Maybe if I ignore him, he’ll go away._

“My name is Rook! I am a Pawn in your service!”

_And that’s a chess joke. Bye. Not dealing with it today, tomorrow or ever. Farewell you walking pun._

As Dove rounds a tree, he stops cold. Not literally either, since a fireball roughly the size of a dinner bowl flies past him and into the dark bark. It explodes into a flurry of embers, many of which just barely avoid singing Dove’s new clothes. Terrified by the magic, Dove is unable to move. Thus, leaving Rook just enough time to catch up.

“Ah! Hello! My name is Rook and I am a Pawn! A pleasure to meet you, Arisen!”

Sending a spare glance towards the man with a tendency for miscasting fireballs, his appearance adds a level of amusement to the swirling fear within Dove. Unfortunately, it takes charge when he speaks.

“Oh my goodness you look hilarious”

Said with a stare and expression blank as can be, Dove and Rook look at each other without another word. Rook clearly appears confused by the statement, but Dove has reached a level of amusement that it rounds back to stoicism. Fortunately for the strange atmosphere that has surrounded the two, Rook is not one to keep quiet.

“We should head to the encampment!”

 

Blinking, Dove nods slowly.

“....Yes. I was doing that.”

“Then we should make haste!”

Taking a step forward, Rook begins to do what is nothing short of a sprint down the path. However, before he gets even five feet away, he stops abruptly. Spinning to face Dove, he waves in indication.

“Come! Follow me, Arisen! ‘Tis this way!”

 

Still awestruck by Rook’s appearance and the suddenness of a Pawn that came from a flashing green light, Dove doesn’t move. Rather, he just squints at his hands. 

Rook calls again, slowly shuffling forward to circle around Dove.

“Arisen! The encampment is just ahead! We should head there first!”

Silence.

“Arisen, I believe there are goblins on this road! We should take care on way to the encampment!”

Dove’s eyes twitches.

He finally speaks.

“Oh for _fuck’s_ sake Quina was right.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone that left comments and kudo'd and all of that! Ya'll actually gave me the energy to continue on.
> 
> Also the mood is shifting to what I intended, which is a dark comedy before it becomes straight dark around Shadow Fortress/Elysion. Sorry if it seems a bit jarring. Especially the last line which I couldn't think of anything funnier tbh.


	6. Shattering and Guards

Arisen this, Arisen that. Ever since he met this ginger-haired pyromaniac, it’s been nothing but that accursed word. If Dove had to hear it anymore, he’d gladly throw himself off the cliffside right now.

“Arisen! The encampment is just ahead!”

Dove cringes, teeth gritting.

One more time....

“Arisen! Goblins!”  
Head jolting up to snap at Rook, the realization that this was a new bit of dialogue hits Dove like a brick. Goblins? On the road? Now? Certainly too early for that...

Spinning on his heel to face what Rook is pointing at, Dove comes face-to-face with a small hoard of red skinned beasts. They’re not even ten feet away, but all the detail in their overgrown underbites are clear to the eye. Probably even more so for the poor bastard stuck between them and a rickety birch.

“A-Ah! Someone! Please help!”

The stranger yelps in a fashion entirely too frightened to take seriously. For a moment, Dove thinks of helping him out. Goblins tend to think a bit too well of attractive people, after all. Yet the apothecary stalls. A goblin’s poison dagger pierces through one of the man’s pouches, ripping the leather with ease. Gold coins fall out in troves, littering the dirt in blinding spots. With the dying light illuminating them, it distracts the goblins just long enough to keep the man unwounded for another few minutes. As one of the biggest goblins in the pack bends down, an overturned cart catches Dove’s eye.

Merchant.

“Move it, Rook.”

Without even giving the man in danger a second thought, Dove strides past the goblin pack. The merchant gives a call out to him, but it falls on deaf ears. Dove moves with purpose, not bothering to even think of looking back. He can hear goblin screams and the sound of flesh burning. Rook being all too eager to use the fireball again, it seems. But Dove continues on. The day he gives any merchant the light of day would be the day Gran Soren falls into the abyss.

“Arisen, look! The merchant granted us a gift of a leather cloak! He said his name was Reynaud! He may be of a help on our journey!”

Without missing a beat, Dove snaps back.

“I’m not on a journey. I’m getting herbs and going back to Cassardis. I’m not the Arisen. If you don’t stop saying it, I’ll personally throw you off this cliff.”

Still following at an apt speed, Rook sidles up beside Dove.

“If you are unsure, you may speak to the Pawn Legion themselves. They will say the same. I may have old orders, but my guidance remains stalwart.”

Snorting, Dove blows a strand of hair out of his face.

“Of course your captain will agree with what you’re saying. You had to have gotten this idea from somewhere. Now leave me alone.”

Pouting like a child by Rook’s words, Dove speeds up. The wooden entrance is easily seen and almost touchable. Maybe he can finally get rid of this puffed-up ball of red hair in the encampment maze.

“You are to save Gransys from the Dragon, Arisen. If you shirk your duty, all will be doomed.”

Touching the worn cast-iron handle, Dove throws open the encampment’s entrance. He slides in, purposely dragging the gap to enter smaller and smaller as he goes. Twirling like a dancer, he sticks his head out towards the barred Rook. A twisted grin curls Dove’s lips, unnatural and demented.

“Let it.”

With a crash, the door closes.

O~~~O~~~~O~~~~O~~~~O~~~~O~~~~~O~~~~

Letting out a breath he didn’t know he was holding, Dove falls back against the Encampment’s wooden entrance. A dainty hand comes to hold his chest, clutching the fabric desperately. He doesn’t even seem to care when the Duke’s battalion begin to whisper amongst each other. A few point, prompting a deathly glare from Dove. It’s not like he wanted to make a big scene of entering the place. All he desired was getting away from the blabbermouth that probably is still stuck on the other side of the wall.

The image of Rook standing outside the Encampment like a lost dog brings an amused smile to Dove’s lips. He nearly laughs, forced to choke it down just so he doesn’t attract even more attention to himself. More guards walk by, whispering something about a madman entering camp. A lunatic. What an apt description for himself at this point. After all, who else would dare see a towering red lizard and think that’s a perfectly valid opponent?

Sliding down against the lumber, Dove’s hands move from hiding his smile to hiding his face. A small crowd has formed, watching and waiting for what he will do next. Dove smirks bitterly, soured even more by the stinging of his eyes.

_Go frolic somewhere else, dogs. You’re not going to get anything dramatic out of me._

There was nothing dramatic to do, after all. Exhaustion had finally placed its hold onto Dove, talons deep in his flesh. He was lucky to even be standing long enough to throw Rook off his trail. Now all the past few day’s events had begun to reveal their effects in earnest. He laughs, trying his best to find humor in a terrible situation. It starts off as soft and gentle before gradually degrading into something almost mad. Sticky wetness leaks from his eyes, the feeling only prompting more to fall.

_Why do I have to be the Arisen?_

Quina was right, certainly. There would be no doubt about it the moment Rook started to follow him around. They never listened to anyone other than an Arisen. Obey, certainly. But listen? They would rather let themselves get smashed by a wandering ogre than take anyone else’s advice. Rook was a death sentence. There was no getting rid of Pawns once they knew you were Arisen. There was no running from fate so long as they were around.

_I didn’t want this._

Trembling under the weight of reality, Dove curls in on himself. His sobs are subdued, but his laughs are not. Maniac? He certainly was playing the part like a professional.

_I just wanted to help. I didn’t want Cassardis destroyed or everyone to die. Why am I being punished for good intentions? Is the Maker truly that cruel?_

Unable to curl up more, Dove merely sits in his ball of self-loathing. Every person wandering the crowded Encampment makes a point to avoid him by at least a meter, sending strange looks. Especially the merchants. Their gossip is the loudest, reminding Dove of his hopeless situation.

“Did you hear? The Arisen was found! A Pawn is wandering all about shouting it to the world!”

“Wasn’t the old Arisen from Gran Soren? I haven’t heard anything from the Duke so where’s the new one?”

“Be lucky you aren’t from Cassardis like that nutjob over there.”

“Let’s hope the Arisen can slay the Dragon before our trade route is burnt up to hell…”

Arisen, Arisen, Arisen. Anymore and the word would lose its meaning. It already has, thanks to Rook. But people just keep...saying it. Reminding him. Hands slide into a mass of snowy hair. They claw and clench, threatening to tear away at the roots. Thoughts swarm into his mind, shattering it into particular memories. Yet they all loop back to the first encounter with the Dragon, as if he had no life before. Blood seeps under his fingernails. The thoughts just won’t stop. They just keep flowing.

_I’m just a nobody from a nobody village._

_I’m an idiot._

_Stop you from being Arisen._

_I am a Pawn in your service!_

_Praise the Arisen for he has come!_

_I’ll never...be their knight..._

Then, something snaps and someone screams.

~~~O~~~~O~~~~O~~~O~~~O~~~O~~~O

“Step lively men! You there! Fetch the bucket! Our guest has awoken!”

While not the most obnoxious awakening Dove’s had yet, hearing the thick accent practically shout manages to reach the top ten. A hand rises to rub his aching head, only to feel gauze wrap all around. Dove visibly panics, bolting upright in horror. Had he been attacked in the night? Did someone splash goblin spit in his face?

Dove’s distress is quickly noted by the accented stranger, who spins around in a flourish of a white cape. In a similarly foreign gesture, she makes a great bow. Dark brown hair bounces in her bob, looking oddly spry for a sword-toting duelist.

“A good morn to you, sir. How might you fare?”

Reflexively, Dove shoots back without filtering his words.

“What the hell happened to my face?”

The duelist, caught aback from such a spry response, has to gird herself for a response. A hand moves to pound her chest--a sign of honesty amongst the armored folk.

“One of my men found you unconscious three days ago by our gate. You were bleeding exponentially. Some reports had you without eyes! I personally was not around to see, but our healer gave you some bandages nonetheless. You certainly seem far better now, do you not feel the same?”

Curt and just enough details to give a good picture of the case. If anything, this duelist girl was at least manageable to be around. Huffing a puff of air, Dove begins to fiddle with his bandages. They’re certainly wrapped tight enough. As he fiddles with the cloth, his sole violet eye peers intensely at the duelist.

“So. Why save some random man? Certainly these bandages could have better use during a crisis.”

Flinching, the girl clearly didn’t want the topic to come up. Awkwardly, she scratches her cheek.

“Ah yes. About that…”

As if on cue, an all-too-familiar voice rings from outside the tent. A particular ginger ball of fluff pops his head in, waving a staff.

“Hello, Arisen! We have made it to the encampment!”

Rook.

The duelist is clearly uncomfortable around the Pawn, inching away from him as much as she can. Metal-plated hand twitching, she gestures to Rook.

“Well you see, my men were wanting to leave you to die. Yet this fellow came burst in the camp, ranting and raving about the Arisen! When he said you were it, we...didn’t take him seriously. Then ah…”

She trails off, practically sweating in her greaves.

“He showed everyone your scar to make a point. I knew Pawns were no-nonsense in an emergency, but to be so brazen…”

Dove’s blood runs cold. Subconsciously, he places his hand to his grisly scar. Still there and still a reminder no matter how many times he’s tried to ignore it existing. The touch lasts but a moment until a glare more suited to Death itself is directed to Rook. The Pawn, of course, simply gives a calm thumbs-up.

“We are safe in the encampment! You still must speak to the Pawn Legion! Dying is not an objective.”

Animosity leaks off Dove’s form, practically chilling the tent to sub-zero temperatures. Rook is blissfully unaware, looking on with a faint quirk of his lips. 

_Is he seriously proud of himself?_

Seriously considering stealing the duelist’s rapier and gutting Rook right there and then, Dove stews in his outrage. His hands continue to play at the bandages, their layers slowly falling one by one onto his lap. In his process, he notices that the twigs and dirt that once plagued his locks are gone as well. Dove’s expression twists to curiosity for but a second until Rook pipes in once more.

“To look good in front of the Pawn Legion is a must! I took the liberty of fixing your hair while you were unaware, Arisen! Let us make haste to meet the Pawn Legion while it is still clean!”

Horrified by the Pawn’s gall, Dove reaches his hand out to the duelist’s.

“Give me your sword. I’m going to kill him.”

Having been anxiously watching the interaction between the two, the woman abruptly regains her pride. Puffing out her chest, she slams her hands on her hips. Metal clashes with metal, clinging throughout the backend of camp.

“I am Mercedes Marten. I lead the men of this here Enlistment Corps. Who are you to give me such bold orders? I am no jester as to hand my blade to you! Arisen or not!”

Seeing as his plan has been foiled, Dove clicks his tongue. He resumes glaring at Rook, who merely idles outside the tent like a beast without an owner. Mercedes, while upset over the attempt for her rapier, is far faster to relax. Brushing back her hair, she gives a weak little smile the longer that Dove stares at Rook.

“If you really must get rid of him, there is word of a mad Cyclops some paces away from our gate. Certainly a poorly clothed mage such as he would not last long?”

Though she tries to comfort Dove, he is not blind to her clear reluctance to say such words. As the leader of a merry band of men, any loss is her own. He’s seen the tactic before. The Duke’s guards are fond of using it. Appeal to the lesser morals of someone else to get a task done without any loss to one’s own forces. But in a scenario of lesser of two evils, any captain would sacrifice some expendable force before their own. Gaze lowering, Dove turns his attention to Mercedes. This Cyclops was far more trouble than she was letting off.

Mercedes’s transparent discontent only solidified his claim.

“You’re not good at such underhanded tactics.”

Dove’s words are to the point as ever, only furthered by how little he elaborates on as he rises. Rook perks back up, as if excited to be going somewhere. Mercedes, on the other hand, doesn’t share in the mirth. Her gaze darts to the ground.

“That might be true. But hear this. I care for my men. I don’t want more of their blood on the beast’s club than there already has. I’ll accept any help, may it be Pawn, Arisen, fishwife or farmer. I would go myself, but without my guidance I fear for their lives even more.”

Dove can’t help but roll his eyes. Another person asking favors, another too kind to be dealt with. This Mercedes reminded him painfully of Quina, putting others over themselves despite the disadvantage it would bring. For a split second, Dove flashes back to Quina’s sobbing the day before he left. They both were entirely too soft-hearted for their own good. As was himself, for even thinking the proposition through.

“I’m just here for herbs. And maybe dealing with this “Legion” to get _him_ off my back. I can’t help you with your monster problem. I have nothing to my name.”

Turning in his cloak, Dove makes his way past Mercedes. He also brushes past Rook, but is far more rough about it.

“Good luck, though.”

Mercedes’s attention rises for a split second, thinking that his last comment was a change of mind. How unfortunate that once he made up his mind, he was dead set on it. Grumbling and twirling a strand of clean hair between his fingers, he acknowledges Rook at last with a look that leaks disdain.

Rook is quick to see the look and even faster to not care about it.

“This way, Arisen! To the Pawn Legion! They await!”

~~~O~~~~O~~~~O~~~O~~~O~~~O~~~O

“It’s a rock.”

Those were the first words out of Dove’s mouth upon entering the backroom of a nearby yellow tent. For that was all the Pawn Legion was. A hunk of rock with some gibberish spread on its face. This was what Rook was raving about? Certainly all those fireballs did something to his brain.

_He can’t be serious, can he?_

Dove glanced at the Pawn. To his horror, the mage was bowing and and talking to the unseemly chunk of granite. He look more insane than he normally did. More than once, Dove considers just backing out without saying a word. He may not think high of himself, but he certainly had some pride.

Just as he is about to take a step backwards, Rook spins to face him with unnatural speed. It is a move straight out of old fairy tales with hideous witches and their spinning heads. For a second, Dove almost thinks he’s going to be eaten alive. Fortunately, all Rook does is gesture to the stone.

“Behold, Arisen! The Pawn Legion!”

Dove remains dumbfounded.

“It’s...a _rock_.”

“Yes!”

Wondering if this all is an elaborate prank, Dove pulls out his staff and raps its knob against the top of the so-called Pawn Legion. When there’s no response, Dove gestures out his free hand and repeatedly starts slamming the staff against the rock.

“What an amazing Legion, Rook. Look, I can hit it over fifty times and it still continues to be a _rock_.”

Rook’s head tilts at Dove’s whacking, clearly confused by the gesture. 

“You have to touch it, Arisen. With your hand.”

Silence falls over the tent.

In the distance, a seagull caws.

“Oh.”

Dove feels his cheeks flushing at the blunder. Of course, touching the runic hunk of junk is someone’s first thought. Not inspecting it or testing it or anything! Barbaric. Though, despite his embarrassment, Dove nonetheless does as Rook says. At first, he uses just his fingertips to gently line the runes engraved on its surface. Seeing how it doesn’t explode, he moves it to his entire hand.

To Dove’s surprise…

Absolutely nothing happens.

“Way to waste my time, you pyromaniac.”

No magical flicker of blue or dangerous gleam of red. No galactic swirling portal that can drag the two inside. Nothing actually worth caring about. Rather, the Pawn Legion remains a relic of useless craftsmanship. Dove sighs, hooking his staff away once again. But not before giving an annoyed rap against Rook’s head.

“Let’s go. You got your Rock Legion or whatever it is done. Now help me with gathering some nuts for an elixir before you stop being useful.”

Unfortunately for Dove, Rook doesn’t move. He simply stares down the Rock Legion with a dead expression. Frankly, it throws a shiver down Dove’s back. Even when Rook reanimates, that fear remains. Unable to look at the Pawn, Dove speed walks away and outside the tent. He is trailed after by a flaming lost dog, the tapping of his staff sounding louder than it has any right to be.

“Arisen…”

Dove cringes at the term. He squeezes his eyes shut, pretending as he never heard him.

“Arisen look.”

The sound of metal clattering and people yelling suddenly erupts in the camp. Startled into awareness, Dove nearly trips on his own feet. Eyes bolting open, he comes to see the sight of the Encampment in chaos. Guards shouting, Mercedes operating platoons, wounded with their bodies malformed like dough dragged in by the dozens. In haste, one man is toted past Dove. The body appears normal, but the entire skull seems have been caved in. Metal split into the skull, drenching the neck in a disturbing dark red blood. The victim’s hand twitches, desperately trying to repeat normal bodily functions in its dying state. Though the passing takes mere seconds, it feels as if they set the soon-to-be corpse up for display. In the distance, a shrieking roar shakes the very foundations of the Encampment.

That’s when Dove realizes.

The Cyclops that Mercedes was so worried about. It had apparently hastened its way towards the Encampment with no warning. Now it was wreaking havoc, taking advantage of the cliffside to throw soldiers off the side like rotten pottage. Its hideous fleshy grey head looms above the watchtowers, flattening one like nothing with a giant club. The archers stationed there simply vanish, turned to a new layer of red paint on the spikes.

One lucky watchtower manages to strike the eye, forcing the beast to rear. Unfortunately, for such a brute, it’s far from completely mindless. The pain from the arrow makes it start wildly throwing its club all about. Its spikes dig deep into the wall it is unable to surmount. When the club refuses to budge, the cyclopes takes a new approach. Roaring in outrage, it starts ramming the far wall of the Encampment with its tusks. Each slam shakes the wall’s section to its core, wood splintering.  
One hit more and it is certain to fall.

Horrified, Dove can’t but watch in the carnage. Rook has long left, helping the archers by blasting poorly aimed fireballs as fast as he can. Yet Dove can’t help but look on, seeing more bodies flying and Mercedes dodging falling beams of wood to rescue the injured. What could he do? This creature was like the dragon. Huge, powerful and vicious. No sense of mercy or sanity. He would just be killed again, but with no chance of return.

He was just a simple apothecary. He had no magic like Rook. All he could do is wait for everything to happen and repair those that survived. He was...worse than useless.

With a final crack, the wood wall comes tumbling down in a series of logs. They fall like a brown waterfall, crushing any poor thing stuck under their descent. Yet the Cyclops rises triumphant, club returned to their hand. The camp is clouded in a thick wall of dust, courtesy of the destruction. Mercedes begins calling out for her lieutenants, shouting orders as she scrambles for survivors despite the blindness. Unfortunately, the beast is also hidden under the smoke. Cries and shouts trying to figure out where it went ring throughout the camp. Yet not a single one is correct.

For the Cyclops was directly in front of Dove, its club descending to strike.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This and Chapter 7 were meant to be just one big chapter, but I split into two because it makes the cliffhanger smoother in transition.


	7. Cyclops and Ocean Blue

_“What’s a hero, Papa Adaro?”_

_Young and bright-eyed, Dove sits on the floor of Chief Adaro’s hut. On his right Quina, his left Valmiro. Quina holds Dove’s crutches in her lap, wiping their dirt away with the hem of her skirt. She seems just as eager to hear the answer to Dove’s question. Of course, her gentle smile doesn’t betray her sheer excitement._

_“A hero? Wherever did you find such a word?”_

_Dove pouts, looking guilty to his knees._

_“I stole a guard’s book…and read it.”_

_Valmiro snickers at the admission, only to get an angry glare from Quina. He quiets instantly, but it’s clear he’s holding it in. Chief Adaro, however, seems to share in Valmiro’s amusement._

_“Oh, did you now? Might I inquire as to what that book was?”_

_Ducking his head down, Dove shyly plays with his curls. Though he seems meek in admitting it, once he begins to speak, he practically spills his entire heart out._

_“It was about the last Arisen! He was a knight and super strong. He took all the heads off a archhydra in one swing! He could also look a Beholder in the eye and the Beholder would blink! Everyone loved him because he gave everyone gifts and protected everyone! He was also very pretty! Like even the Duchess said so! She made him a cape out of dragon scales when he killed it in one hit! And, and..!”_

_Dove wheezes to take a breath, only to throw himself into a fit of coughing. Already frail as he was, the violent racking of Dove’s body brought concern to the small group. Quina comfortingly patted his back, though that only seemed to irritate his health. A small dribble of red leaked past Dove’s ghostly pale lips, but was quickly wiped away. Just when it seems Dove has calmed, he is thrown into another fit, clutching his chest from the burning of his lungs. Tears prick his eyes, trailing down his face when he can finally breathe again. Though while the other three seem dampened in mood from Dove’s fit, he only goes on again._

_“I wish I could be a hero like that! I...I mean I can’t but in another life! The Maker talks about another life all the time! Do you think I can be the Arisen after I die, Papa Adaro?”_

_Having not expected such a question, Chief Adaro’s expression rises from sheer surprise. Then, his eyebrows furrow darkly. He takes a tone that makes Quina visibly cringe, though Valmiro and Dove both seem oblivious._

_“Don’t make plans like that, little bird. You’re far too young for those thoughts.”_

_Dove pouts, leaning forward and completely missing the point._

_“I’m too young to wanna be Arisen?!”_

_“N-No, I mean...ahh nevermind. You’re too sprightly for your own good, little bird. Ought to teach Quina some of that passion.”_

_Startling at being regarded, Quina is the next to puff out her cheeks and puff._

_“But I don’t wanna be an ugly knight! I wanna help people like Momma and Benita!”_

_Valmiro giggles beside her, prodding her side with a finger._

_“The knight was pretty though wasn’t he, Birdie?”_

_Dove nods in agreement, leaning towards an increasingly flustered Quina with Valmiro backing him up._

_“C’mon Quina! Let’s all be Arisen! Or knights! Wait, Valmiro. Someone’s gonna hafta’ be the Duchess!”_

_“You be Duchess, Birdie.”_

_“No! I read about the knight I get to be the knight!”_

_“Can I be a nun?”_

_“No way! Pick something cooler, Quina!”_

Silently, the children squabbling trails off. The images fade away in a swirl of beige dust, instead replaced by the incoming reality of a spiked club. Dove had not moved since he first left the Pawn Legion, frozen in horror at the sudden carnage. Now he was destined to be another one of the splotches decorating the Cyclops's club.

That is, if a shield had not appeared in front of his eyes. A fluttering grey cloak conceals what had blocked the club, but it was clearly human in nature. Through supernatural strength and agility, the club is redirected into the cliff wall. All Dove can react is a weak noise as the cliff’s shards fly past him. Dumbstruck, he can simply watch as the cloaked figure vanishes again from sight, reappearing on the Cyclops's arm. They defy gravity, dashing up to get a shot of the beast’s eye. With all the skill of a dancer, they throw their blade into the squishy appendage. It is put all the way up to the hilt, black blood shooting out like a geyser around it. For good measure, the stranger places the toe of their greaves onto what part of the hilt remains, bouncing off of it. In a fantastical sight, they backflip mid air. Landing on their feet like a cat, they almost seem to strike a pose as the Cyclops sways madly behind them. Dove is unable to choose between staring at the Cyclops and at the stranger, unsure of which is a better sight. Unfortunately, when he looks at the shield-bearing miracle worker, he loses sight of the Cyclops's descent angle. As the beast reaches max velocity falling to its grave, Dove finds himself dead center of its trajectory.

That is, up the stranger bundles Dove up into their arms and bolts away. Before anyone can comment, the Cyclops falls into a great crater and the newfound duo are perched safely on an incline. Dove stares dumbly at the corpse, overwhelmed with too many emotions to really speak. He doesn’t even register the fact he’s still being carried in the stranger’s arms like a bride. Rather, he rests against the other as to take a breath. A mistake Dove comes to regret near-instantly.

“Master.”

Blinking out of his desire to sleep, Dove looks around to find the speaker of such an intimate title. Then the realization hits him like a ton of bricks. Who said it was none other than his savior he hasn’t even given a complete look at just yet. Curious despite his sinking feeling, Dove looks up at the shield knight. It’s enough of a sight to instantly make Dove nauseous.

The Arisen that Dove had aspired to be in another life now stands in reality.

Ocean blue eyes stare down into Dove’s pale violet, intent and stern.

“My name is Iselle. A pleasure to meet you, Master.”


End file.
